


Don't Know Where To Start, Or How To Stop

by PosseMagnet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dean is nineteen, Dirty Talk, Felching, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Poker, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Snowballing, Twink Sam, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Wincest - Freeform, sam is fifteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12151953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PosseMagnet/pseuds/PosseMagnet
Summary: Dean teaches Sam how to bluff at poker.





	Don't Know Where To Start, Or How To Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is nineteen, and Sam is fifteen. So, technically underage, but not immensely so. If that still bothers you, this is your last warning to turn back.
> 
> Thanks to [spectaculacularsammy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy) for beta'ing, and putting up with my bullshit.
> 
> Title is from [Queen of Hearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyrFpR59_vQ) by Gregg Allman

John drops a paper bag covered bottle of whiskey on the couch next to Dean on his way out of the house. It’s not unheard of for John to leave some booze for nineteen-year-old Dean, but this wasn’t the old rotgut he usually bought. It was a brand spanking new bottle of Maker’s Mark, thick red seal still intact to signal that John hadn’t taken a hit of it to get his buzz started before he got to the bar.

 

Dean peels open the bottle with a snort, knowing that this was as close to an apology that either of the Winchester boys were going to get. John could be an asshole at the best of times, but he almost broke Sammy’s nose today while they were sparring. If Dean had been a couple inches taller, or a few pounds heavier he might have been able to murder John, which is what he wanted to do.

 

The first few swigs of amber liquid Dean unceremoniously dumped down his gullet just began to erase the image of Sammy sitting on the ground with Dean’s flannel doing double duty. Held firmly to a nose that was gushing the salty, scarlet heat of trust issues, and absorbing the hot wash of tears that were partially because John’s ham-fisted blow made Sam’s eyes water uncontrollably, but also genuine tears. Sam was shocked that his father would hit him like that, even while training, like he was in a bar fight with a grown man, or a monster, and not a scrappy fifteen-year-old boy, who weighed 120 pounds soaking wet.

 

Dean figured there was no reason for him to drink alone, so he called Sam downstairs. He was bent over his duffle retrieving a deck of cards when Sam clamored into the room.

 

“Hey, Sammy,” he began, but then he straightened and saw Sam, and the rest of what he’d planned to say trailed off, replaced by a muffled moan. 

 

Falling for your brother is something that isn’t supposed to happen, but fuck if Dean wasn’t head-over-heels for his. And his brother had just arrived in the dirty kitchen wearing cut-offs so tiny they were mostly just pockets, and a worn, hand-me-down Metallica t-shirt, the bottom of it cut off so short it didn’t even cover the bony cage of his ribs. Dean was shocked to see the glittery jewel of a piercing snuggled in the dip of his baby brother’s belly button.

 

Standing there with his sleep ruffled hair, showing miles of tan skin, he looked good enough to eat. And damn if Dean didn’t feel like a wolf.

 

There was a tense, and embarrassing moment where Dean didn’t think he’d be able to finish speaking. His mouth opens and closes as a reedy sound squeaks out of him. Then he remembers the deck of cards in his hand and that gets his brain working again.

 

“Sit,” he said to his brother, “I’m gonna teach you how to play poker.” He tosses the deck onto the table, along with two relatively clean tumblers.

 

“Dad already taught me how to play cards,” Sam says, leaning on the chair with one hand, his bony hips cocked to one side.

 

Dean pours a healthy dose of Maker’s Mark into each tumbler, sliding one over to Sam. “Sure,” Dean replies, “Dad taught you how to play, but I’m going to teach you how to win.” He tips a wink in Sam’s direction, noticing a flush spread across Sam’s cheeks as they sit down.

 

Dean shuffled the deck and dealt the cards, while explaining, “The first few hands are going to be open, because, Sammy, you need to learn how to bluff. You have the rules of the game down pat, which is no surprise, with you being a huge nerd and all,” he thumps a foot into his brother’s calf from across the table.

 

“I’m not a nerd, Dean,” he argues out of habit, sipping at the whiskey in his glass. He grimaces as the amber liquid burns its way down to his guts. He won’t be used to schooling his expression while drinking for several more years.

 

“Alright, alright,” Dean throws his hands up in concession. “You may not be a _nerd_ , but you _are_ very smart. Which means you’ve got the _how_ of the game down to second nature. What you need practice with is the _why_ of the game.”

 

Sam takes a few more gulps of whiskey, his eyes starting to shine with the buzz that creeps over his skin, leaving goosebumps behind. “Dean, I… I don’t...”

 

“Why do we play poker Sam?”  Dean asks patiently.

 

“Uh… You and dad play to make money,” he says.

 

“Exactly!” Dean beams at his brother and pours them both another drink. “We play poker to make money, so that’s _why_ we do what we do. And to play effectively, you have to be able to bluff.” He pauses until Sam nods his understanding. “When _you_ bluff, you fidget too much. You scratch itches you don’t have, flip your girly hair out of your face, drum your fingers on the table, those things are just as good as showing your cards to everyone at the table.”

 

“How am I supposed to stop doing stuff I don’t even know I’m doing, though?” he asks, licking his lips, and sucking the bottom lip into his mouth to chew on.

 

The innocent gesture makes Dean half hard in his jeans. He closes his eyes, but Sam’s pretty face is burned onto the back of his eyelids, so he settles for grinding the heel of his hand against his traitorous cock. Then a deep breath he lets slide slowly out before looking at Sam, who is smiling at him over the table. “Practice,” he grits out in Sam’s direction before he knocks back his bourbon and pours them both more.

 

“You want me… to practice… sitting?” Sam asks incredulously, like Dean is teasing him in a way that Sam hasn’t quite sussed out yet.

 

“For arguments sake,” Dean pauses, slugging down his bourbon, “Yes.”

 

Sam huffs a breath which basically means he’s going to humor Dean, but he thinks this whole lesson business is bullshit.

 

Dean is drinking directly from the bottle now, and Sam can smell the sweet alcohol on his brother when Dean walks around to stand behind him.

 

Dean leans over Sam, gesturing at the cards, and says… _something_. Yeah, he’s sure he said something, but he’ll be fucked if he can remember what, because all he can think about is the heat radiating off Sam, and how delicious his brother’s lithe little body smells.

 

Sam fidgets in his seat, breaking Dean’s reverie. Dean straightens so fast his back cracks. He takes three big steps backward, until the counter thumps against the small of his back. He squeezes his eyes shut, mentally cursing at himself for the way he feels about his little brother. There was no excuse for his behavior, and he was about to run to his room like a gut shot rabbit, and get blind drunk.

 

The screech of Sam’s chair scraping across the linoleum startles Dean, and his eyes fly open. Sam is standing, swaying tipsily, with the bottle of whiskey in his hand. His fox-eyes glitter brightly with booze and something else Dean’s too drunk to place.

 

Sam crosses to him slowly, his skinny hips swaying hypnotically, and all Dean can think about is whether Sam’s hips would still tick-tock like that with Dean’s cock in his ass.

 

Sam holds the half-empty bottle out to him. Dean takes it gratefully, noticing distractedly that it’s nearly empty. He’s doing liquor math in his head when something grazes his stomach. Sam’s thin fingers twiddle along the hem of Dean’s t-shirt. Once Dean sees them there, Sam’s winds them into the thin fabric, pulling Dean toward him until they’re the barest breath away from each other.

 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice is tremulous.

 

“Yeah?” Dean answers like he hasn’t forgotten how to breathe in the last thirty seconds.

 

“Kiss me,” Sam asks, hazel eyes wide and bright as stained glass, “Please?”

 

Dean can taste the moment his resolve dies, a dull flare of ash in his mouth, then his lips are pressed sloppily to Sam’s and his fingers are slipping over his brother’s cheeks, and trailing over his shoulders.

 

His hands are huge on the naked expanse of skin between the bottom of Sam’s crop top and the top of his jean shorts, and Dean clings to that smooth, tanned skin.

 

Sam kisses sloppy and hungry. Dean’s hands are everywhere, and he mewls into Dean’s mouth when Dean thumbs over his tight nipples. He arches into Dean when one hand skims down the concave sprawl of Sam’s stomach, muscled from summers spent playing soccer, and winters, football. His finger catches on the little curved barbell that sits in the dip of his belly button, making Sam gasp a tight little intake of breath.

 

“Sammy,” Dean breaks the kiss to speak, “So fucking beautiful.” He tips Sam’s head back to slip his tongue along the pulse point in his brother’s neck. It gallops along, tickling his tongue with its frenetic beat.

 

Dean slips his hands along Sam’s hips, picking his brother up when Sam lifts his legs to wrap around Dean’s waist. Dean walks them over to the ratty grey couch, the sole piece of furniture in the living room, besides the TV.

 

He sits, letting Sam’s long legs straddle his lap. He curls one hand around the back of Sam’s head, pulling him in so Dean can kiss him hard. He slips his other hand up Sam’s short tee shirt, rubbing his calloused fingertips against the pebble-hard peaks of Sam’s sensitive nipples.

 

Dean curls his fingers into the hem of Sam’s ratty tee and drags it over his brother’s head, exposing tanned skin and dusky nipples frozen into hard peaks.  Dean reaches up, trailing his fingers over Sam’s chest, to slide roughly over the shiny barbells poked through the peaked skin.

 

“Where’d these come from?” Dean asks in a hushed, reverent tone.

 

Sam arches his back, in a perfect imitation of a bow. “A friend did them with a safety pin,” he answers sweetly, looking at Dean through his long eyelashes.

 

“Dad would kill you if he saw these,” Dean says, grazing the unforgiving metal bars that spear his nipples and tuck into his hollow belly button.

 

Sam shrugs his ever-widening shoulders, “I did them for you. Thought you’d like ‘em.”

 

Dear groans, long and deep. “Christ, baby boy,” Dean grits at his brother, “They look amazing.” He squeezes his big hands into Sam’s fuckboy hips and presses his leaking dick against Sam, hissing at the way the rough zipper grinds against the sensitive underside of his swollen cock.

 

Sam rolls his narrow hips, gasping at how big his brother’s cock feels against his plump little ass. “Dee?” Sam uses Dean’s childhood nickname, asking in a shy tone that makes Dean’s dick blurt out fresh precome. “Will you fuck me, Dee? Please?”

 

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Sammy,” Dean gasps, feeling like he may die of blood loss to the brain before they can get that far. He drags Sam down for a quick and dirty kiss, then levels his younger brother with a green-eyed glare, before commanding, “Get those shorts off, baby boy.”

 

Sam scrambles off Dean’s lap. He watches Dean reposition, situating himself lengthwise on the sofa. He pulls his t-shirt off and adjusts himself so the fat, flushed head of his cock peeks out of the waistband if his jeans, and rests heavily beside his belly button.

 

Sam stands, staring for a second before thumbing the button on his shorts open. Dean’s finger drags over his spine when he bends to push his shorts off. He freezes bent over when he feels Dean’s thumb drag over his tight hole. He pushes his plush ass into the air, drawing his cheeks apart with trembling hands. When Dean pushes gently, testing the ring of muscle, Sam moans, pushing back into Dean’s questing digit.

 

“Damnit, Sammy” Dean curses reverently, “You sure? Really want me to fill your ass up with my big cock?”

 

“God, Dean,” Sam says, a slight tremble in his voice. “Please.”

 

“Tell me, baby boy,” Dean’s voice drops lower, “I want to know what you want me to do to you. Say it.”

 

D-Dee,” he stutters. His earlier hubris dissolving in a hot wash of desire. “Want you to fuck me. Please. Open me up and fill me full of cock.”

 

With a lust-laden grunt Dean presses his thick thumb past the muscular resistance, and into his brother. He strokes his other four fingers over Sam’s taint and balls.

 

Sam’s hips roll involuntarily, and precome drips from his cock to patter onto the ancient area rug. He keens, “God, Dean!”

 

He withdraws his thumb, ignoring Sam’s whine of protest. He scoops his brother up, sitting Sam over the wide breadth of his chest. Sam’s soft, plump ass is pushed up into Dean’s face, so he gathers the soft flesh, mounding it in his fists, and pulls them apart. He grazes one fistful of flesh with his teeth, then his tongue. Sam makes a guttural sound when, a second later, Dean’s tongue drags, flat and wide, over his hole.

 

A high-pitched whine leaves Sam, and he rocks back onto Dean’s stiff tongue. Once Sam’s hole gives way a little, Dean takes over, alternately sucking on the sensitive flesh, and pushing his tongue into his brother’s obedient little ass.

 

A shudder runs through Dean when Sam’s hands stroke over his cock through his jeans. Then Sam thumbs open the button and rakes down the zipper. Dean’s cock bucks, pumping precome out onto his downy happy trail.

 

Sam bends to lap at the salt-sweet spatter, dragging his tongue down to wrap his mouth around the hot tip. He is rewarded with a loud groan from Dean and another blurt of precome over his tongue. The flavor makes him hum his appreciation around Dean’s cock. Dean thrusts into the wet heat and Sam receives him eagerly.

 

With an obscene “pop,” Dean pulls away from Sam’s sloppy hole. He dips his thick middle finger into his mouth. It trails saliva when he withdraws it. He slowly slides the tip into Sam, making his little brother moan loudly around his cock.

 

“God, Sammy,” Dean coos, “You’re so tight and wet for me. Prettier than any pussy I’ve ever seen.” Sam groans at the glowing praise. More and more of Dean’s finger disappears with each inward thrust. “Bet your cunt will look so pretty stretched around my cock.” He adds another finger alongside the first, along with a wet splat of saliva Dean spits perfectly between Sam’s fluttering rim and his relentless fingers.

 

“Dee,” Sam whispers breathlessly against the crown of Dean’s cock. He slips his mouth down Dean’s shaft again. This time he doesn’t stop when the leaking cock head presses against his gag reflex, he ignores the impulse to stop, and presses against the tension until his brother’s dick stretches his throat, and his nose is buried in Dean’s dark, bristly pubic hair.

 

“Fuck, Sam, _fuck_!” Dean exclaims, “Shit, oh god _damnit_ , Sammy. That feels fucking amazing.” He digs his blunt fingernails into Sam’s prize-winning ass.

 

Dean’s fingers leave his twitching boy-cunt, making Sam whine. Dean gently shushes him, and when his fingers return a second later they’re chilly and slick with lube. Sam isn’t sure where the lube came from, nor does he have time to consider it either, when three thick fingers push past his rim. The stretch makes him clench around Dean, his rigid cock blurting precome all over Dean’s stomach.

 

“You like having my fingers in your pussy, Sam?” Dean asks with a smirk. Sam doesn’t speak, but Dean feels him nod around his cock. “Has anyone else ever been in this pussy besides me?”

 

Sam breaks away to gasp, “No. No one, Dee. Just you.”

 

Dean hums his appreciation, “Mmm. Good. That’s real good. What about you, Sammy? You ever finger your cunt while you think about me?”

 

“A couple times,” Sam says with a strangled cry when Dean grazes his prostate, “Wasn’t enough. I wanted it to be you, Dee.”

 

He’s fucking himself on Dean’s fingers now with desperate noises. His cock makes a wet splat on Dean’s stomach with every stroke. “Do you want to come like this, or do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” Dean phrases it like it’s a question, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

 

“F-f-fu-Oh _god_ , Dee,” his brother’s calloused fingers thrum over his prostate again, and with an incoherent cry, he starts begging. “Jesus, Dean, please, please. Need it, Dee. Fuck me, please. Want it. Want you. God, Dee, please. _Please_.”

 

Dean withdraws his teasing fingers, and strokes a calming hand over Sam’s back. He makes soothing noises while he helps Sam turn around so they’re facing each other. Sam’s hair hangs in sweat-soaked hanks, it sticks to his forehead and temples, and his cheeks are the same flushed red as his cock head.

 

Dean pulls Sam down into a kiss. He kisses his brother gently, plush lips soothing, skilled tongue exploring. His strong hands frame Sam’s face, anchoring him, holding them close.

 

“Dean?” Sam whispers against Dean’s freckle-dusted skin.

 

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean replies, affectionately.

 

“Will, you?” Sam asks, vaguely.

 

Dean shakes his head once, “Say it, Sammy. If you can’t say it, I won’t do it.”

 

Sam grumbles a little, but it isn’t because he doesn’t want this. It’s because he’s fifteen years old, after all, so it’s in his nature to be at least moderately argumentative about, well, everything in general.

 

“Please, Dean?” he asks, “Will you fuck me?”

 

Dean’s groan is deep and sounds raw when it tears its way out of him. He pulls Sam in for another kiss. This one isn’t gentle, or soothing. Dean fucks his brother’s mouth, like he’s about to fuck his cunt.

 

The kiss ends when Sam sits up slowly. He’s twirling Dean’s hidden bottle of lube in his elegantly long fingers. He quirks an eyebrow at his brother and sasses, “Really, Dean? In the couch cushions?”

 

Dean snatches the bottle from Sam with an eyeroll. “Shuddup,” he says.

 

Sam snickers, and slides his hands up his chest. He pinches an end of each of the matching barbells through his nipples and tugs them. His nipples are instantly hard, and the tan skin on his chest runs with goosebumps. He shudders out a moan and arches into his touch.

 

Dean curses under his breath, quickly opening the lube and dumping some into the palm of one hand. This hand he uses to slick up his cock. The other hand rests on Sam’s bony hip.

 

“You ready, sweetheart?” Dean asks in a gruff voice.

 

Sam make a noise of affirmation, biting his lip nervously.

 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean soothes, “If you’re sure you want this, I got you.”

 

Hearing Dean offer him an out, only firms his resolve. “I do, Dee. I’m ready.”

 

The slick head of Dean’s cock slips along his crack. It catches on his rim, and Dean starts pushing into him slowly.

 

Sam’s forehead breaks out in fresh sweat and fine tremors run through his thighs. He whines when the thickness of his big brother’s dick is fully realized. It stretches his boy-cunt more than he thought possible, _way_ more than Dean’s three wide fingers. His breaths come fast, from his gut, which feels more and more crowded as his brother feeds more and more of his huge cock into him.

 

“Christ,” he breathes, “Dean…”

 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says gently, breath ghosting over Sam’s skin “Almost there.”

 

“Dean, fuck,” Sam groans, “Just do it. Please.”

 

With a grunt of agreement, and one smooth thrust, Dean pushes himself in the wet heat of the younger Winchester.

 

Sam makes a gut-punched noise. He feels like he’s being split open on his brother’s cock, but at the same time it feels fucking amazing. He opens his mouth to say as much, but all that comes out is a lust-filled moan.

 

He can feel Dean’s cock jolt inside of him, and it makes him gasp.

 

“Shit, sweetheart,” Dean curses quietly, “You’re so fucking tight.” The compliment makes Sam clench tighter around his dick. Dean swears through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to fuck up into Sam.

 

Sam groans, rolling his hips against Dean’s, “Dee, please. C’mon, Dee. Fuck me. please, Dee, _move_.”

 

Dean draws himself out of Sam, slowly, reluctant to leave the soft, red heat of his brother. When he pushes back in, it’s with a triumphant growl, a raw noise of claiming.

 

It takes Sam a moment to adjust, but once he has, he matches Dean’s rhythm effortlessly. Dean slowly gives control over to Sam, preferring to watch the rapturous delight that shines from his brother’s face. And Dean is immensely turned on when he discovers that Sam’s hips do indeed make that sexy fucking tick-tock motion while he rides his brother’s cock. The revelation makes his squeeze his Sam’s hips hard enough to bruise.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy,” Dean groans, “You’re so fucking hot. Cunt is so tight, so wet for me.”

 

Sam leans back, supporting himself on Dean’s strong thighs. This gives Dean a perfect view of Sam’s hungry cunt devouring him repeatedly. There’s a puddle on his belly, where Sam’s cock has been leaking precome, and Dean swipes his index and middle fingers through the wet splatter. He traces these fingers over Sam’s taint, and back farther to circle Sam’s stretched pussy where it bulges against the outward drag of Dean’s dick.

 

Sam’s voice cracks when he swears, “Fuck. Holy shit, Dean, don’t stop.”

 

Dean smirks at his brother, “You like that, sweetheart?” He bares his teeth when Sam nods. “You want more?” Another nod.

  
Dean folds his legs and rolls forward, so he’s on top and Sam is resting prettily against the opposite arm of the sofa. Sam marvels at how Dean didn’t lose so much as a beat of rhythm, but the thought is quickly obliterated by white static when Dean’s hand dips between them again.

 

Sam’s lanky legs are splayed wide, pushed up to his chest. Dean bends forward to suck at Sam’s pierced nipples. The metal of the jewelry is cool against his tongue, but warms quickly when he thrums his tongue against them. Sam is mewling curses and rocking his hips to meet Dean’s thrusts. When Dean rolls the tender flesh gently between his teeth, Sam’s back bows up off the couch with an inarticulate cry. He scratches Dean’s back, leaving red tracks over the pale, freckled skin.

 

“Fuck, Sammy,” the elder Winchester moans, “You taste so god damned good. Feel amazing around my cock too, sweetheart.”

 

Sam’s hand snakes between them, circling his dick. He jacks himself with one hand, while the other drags over his balls and taint, meeting Dean’s fingers where they still tirelessly circle around his cunt. Dean removes his fingers, sucking them between his plump lips to capture the taste of Sam that covers them.

 

“Dee, please…” he trails off.

 

“Tell me what you need, Sammy,” Dean coos in his sex-rough voice.

 

“I need it, Dee,” Sam pleads. “Wanna come, Dee. Jesus, fuck.”

 

“How, baby?” whispering into the cup of Sam’s ear, Dean purrs, “Tell me how.”

 

“Your cock,” Sam whines, “Please, Dee. Wanna come on your cock. Need to.”

 

Adjusting to deepen his strokes so he’s punching into Sam’s prostate with every thrust, Dean pulls Sam’s calves over his shoulders, so Sam’s thin body is neatly folded in half. He’s still stripping his cock, and he looks rapturous. So, Dean tells him, “You look so fucking beautiful, Sammy. Jerking off while you come apart on my cock. I think next time I want your dick in my mouth when you come, so I can see if you taste as pretty as you look. Not this time though. This time I wanna fill you up with my come, Sammy. Watch it leak out of your pretty little cunt…”

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Sam interrupts, “Dee, I’m gonna…!”

 

Dean holds Sam’s hips down, fucking his brother hard and fast. “Come on, Sammy. Come for me,” he barks.

 

With one last twist of his fist around the crown of his cock, Sam comes. Hot ribbons of pearly white splatter his chest, all the way up to his chin, which Dean enthusiastically stoops to lap off of the cleft in Sam’s chin.

 

Sam’s long-limbed body goes limp like a puppet with cut strings as soon as he’s coaxed the last drop of come out of his overstimulated dick.

 

Dean is close, but not quite there yet, so he smacks his lips loudly, and hums at Sam, “Mmm. Knew you’d taste good, Sammy. Ya think I taste that good? Might just have a taste after I fill you up. Eat it right out of that turned-out pussy.”

 

Sam gives a whole-body shudder when his cock tries to get hard again, despite having _just_ been emptied.

 

“Holy shit, Dean,” Sam howls, “Do it. Please.”

 

“Well, since you asked so nice,” Dean croons with his pretty-boy smirk. He sheathes himself inside Sam’s trembling heat just as he starts to come. The feeling of Dean’s cock bucking and spurting his orgasm deep inside of him makes Sam’s eyes roll back in his head.

 

As soon as the last of his orgasm ends, he tilts Sam’s ass up into the air and draws himself slowly out of his brother. Sam hooks his hands behind his knees, helpfully keeping his ass held high for Dean.

 

A small dribble of come chases after Dean’s cock, and the elder Winchester scolds, “Nuh-uh. Don’t spill, Sammy.” Then he drags the flat of his tongue up Sam’s crack. Once he’s cleaned up the dribble, he laps at Sam’s cunt. He pushes his tongue in past the soft rings of muscle and fucks it in and out, until Sam is moaning, and rock hard again.

 

He hooks his thumbs inside, and opens Sam wide. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me have it, feed it to me.” A ragged groan breaks out of Sam’s chest. His insides ripple as he bears down. Dean hums his approval, “Mmhmm. Good boy. Perfect little pussy.”

 

Dean watches as the come he worked deep into his brother rushes forward. A stream of snow white against the heated red of Sam’s insides. Dean pulls his thumbs away, and seals his lips over Sam’s wet cunt.

 

Sam groans a curse, stroking a hand over the sensitive underside of his cock. When Dean’s tongue slides inside of him again he circles his dick, pulling up his length with a tight fist.

 

Dean’s tongue withdraws, and is replaced by two fingers. Dean strokes these fingers over Sam’s prostate, making him mewl and squirm. He crawls up Sam’s body and plants a hard kiss on Sam’s mouth, forcing his way in. When Sam’s lips part, Dean licks into his mouth, dribbling salty spunk, mixed with the earthy taste of Sam’s used pussy, over his younger brother’s tongue.

 

The fingers inside of him are enough to make him come, but the mingled taste of Dean and himself bows his back up off the couch like he’s being electrocuted as hot come squeezes out of his closed fist.

 

Dean snugs in next to his brother, smoothing sweat-soaked hanks of hair away from Sam’s forehead. He asks quietly, “You okay, Sammy?”

 

Sam nods. “Yeah. ‘M good, Dee.”

 

Dragging a finger through the jizz on Sam’s chest, Dean pops the finger into his mouth with a thoughtful hum. “Are you mad at me, Sammy?” Dean asks, suddenly worried that he’d fucked things up between them.

 

In a slurred voice, Sam asks, “Why would I be mad at you? I started it.”

 

“Dunno,” Dean says with a shrug. He drags his fingers over Sam’s chest again, feeding his fingers into Sam’s mouth this time. “I shoulda stopped you. I’m the big brother. Should look out for you.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes sleepily as he shakes his head, still sucking Dean’s fingers clean.

 

Dean presses a kiss to the corner of Sam’s mouth, knowing his brother is almost asleep, and he’ll have to carry Sam up to bed before John came back.

 

“Dee?” Sam mumbles.

 

“Yeah, Sammy?”

 

“Thanks,” he says, rolling over to snug in against Dean’s chest.

 

Thinking Sam was thanking him for the sex, Dean snorts. “Okay, Sammy.”

 

Sam’s eyes snap open, “No, Dean. Not for _that_.” He clarifies, having followed Dean’s train of thought. “I mean for poker. And the booze. Thanks for teaching me to bluff.”

 

With a softer expression, Dean soothes a hand down Sam’s side. “It’s my job, right? Show my little brother the ropes?”


End file.
